One Dance
by Firefly11
Summary: After all, what was the harm in one dance with one pirate? (Later, she'd look back on that thought and curse what was most definitely the rum talking.) Captain Swan. Two-Shot.


_**Part 1 of 2. This takes place in limbo, somewhere near the end of Season 2 (before the Neverland thing went down, or where the Neverland thing never did go down). Whatever, like I said: Limbo.**_

* * *

><p>"Dare," said Emma, throwing back a shot of rum. She set the glass down with finality and licked her lips, waiting for the eager <em>ooh<em>ing and _hell yes_'s and _atta girl_'s from around the table to subside. It was Girls' Night at the Rabbit Hole, and while Emma had started out the evening wanting nothing more than to crawl into a ball on Mary Margaret's couch with an oversized blanket and hot cocoa, or hell, even bury herself in paperwork at the Sheriff's Station, Ruby would hear nothing of it.

"_We both know your parents need some "_alonetime_", _she'd whispered conspiratorially over the counter as Emma stopped wolfing down a burger she'd suddenly lost her appetite for.

"_Seriously?" _she'd groaned. No way was she about to have a conversation about the very obvious fact that David and Mary Margaret were exceedingly couple-y, lately. Thankfully, there was too much going on to care about being the third wheel when Henry wasn't around.

_(Neal being in Storybrooke—with his fiancé; Regina possibly plotting vengeance (again) against Mary Margaret for killing Cora; a pirate most-definitely plotting vengeance against Gold; Henry's well-being amidst all this chaos; whatever the next crisis the savior needed to handle would be—)_

_God, she was going to go crazy. _

"_And you, my dear," _Ruby continued triumphantly,_ "need a night off. With half-priced drinks. At the Rabbit Hole. So shrug off the leather, find something sexy to wear, and come out with us."_

"_Ruby, I don't think—"_

"_Please? Please please please? Next ten cups of cocoa are on the house?"_

And so here she was, throwing back shots and playing a harmless game of Truth or Dare with Little Red Riding Hood, Cinderella, and freaking Tinkerbell. The Rabbit Hole was packed. The Seven Dwarves were here somewhere, scattered and rolling about from table to table like a bunch of drunken marbles. There were people dancing (definitely _not _the kind ofstorybook-appropriate moves she'd expect from bunch of fairytale characters) and laughing and making out in the corner tables. And here, she surprisingly found herself amused by the scene. There was something . . . nice about it. Something normal in a town that was anything but.

_Must be the rum._

Speaking of rum, somewhere near the far wall behind her, a crew of pirates (she swore she could feel the heat of _one _in particular's gaze on her back, or on her legs, which, for a change, were bare and accentuated by high black pumps underneath) laughed uproariously at some story their Captain was telling. _Not _that she paid any attention to the smooth, accented voice of the storyteller, or fumed at the very fact that a voice could actually _caress_. Not at all.

Ruby tapped her chin and flashed her a particularly deviously grin that could only be described as wolfish, of course, and Emma figured that Little Red Riding Hood could smell fear so she raised a cool eyebrow and motioned for her friend to declare her challenge.

"I dare you . . ." Ruby exchanged a mischievous look with Tink that Emma didn't much care for.

"I'm waiting," Emma managed to drawl out with an unnerved smile.

"I got it! I dare you to dance with one of those pirates. A full song."

_Ugh_. Ruby. "_Really_? _That's _what you're going with?"

"Yep. But I'll let you pick which one."

Emma craned her neck to glimpse the table behind her. There was Hook, half-leaning against the wall, his leg on the back of one of the chairs. He was still telling some story between swallows of rum, gesturing wildly with his hook. Maybe it wouldn't be as bad as she thought, if she could only swallow her pride. Hook's attraction to her wasn't exactly his best-kept secret. She could coax him into a (hopefully short—please be a short song) dance, tell him it was a one-time thing, and walk away and forget it ever happened. She could do that. Hell, she'd gone a lot further than grinding and had no trouble ditching the guy afterwards. It was easy. Clean. Simple.

This was no different. Just a stupid dance, and he was so drunk and she was so drunk that they'd both probably forget it tomorrow.

And then, as though feeling her stare as she could so easily feel his, his eyes—impossibly blue even in the dim lighting of the bar, and burning with something that made her stomach tense—caught hers over the rim of his glass. She saw a flash of white teeth, slow and lazy—

The bastard _winked_.

Emma turned back around and sent a sharp glare Ruby's way. "Absolutely not," she muttered.

Ruby shrugged unapologetically. "Come on, Em. What's the harm in one dance?" She pushed a shot Emma's way, and gestured for her to go on.

The liquor burned down her throat and she took a breath, but Ruby was already pushing another one toward her and boy, did she need it.

Bracing herself, Emma downed the second shot.

_I've fought a dragon, _she reminded herself. Grinding with Captain Hook couldn't beat that, no matter how awkward that very notion of _grinding with Captain freaking Hook _was in an of itself.

With a sigh, Emma stood up, straightened out her dress, and marched without a single ounce of hesitation (despite seeing the pirate's eyes flicker in her direction once more) toward the table. At her presence, most of the men started to quiet and looked up at her cautiously—but lucky for them, thanks to Ruby, she'd left her sheriff hat at home.

"To what do we owe the pleasure, Swan?"

It was pretty much right then and there—the smug smile; the low, accented voice; the way he hung his hand on his belt buckle and leaned back, all confidence and swagger and sex; the way his gaze swept appreciatively downward and back up again, lingering on her breasts before finally resting on her face with something that made Emma feel uncomfortable because it _wasn't_ just lust; it was something else too, something like adoration—that Emma decided she was not going to grant Killian Jones the satisfaction of stroking his ego further and asking him to dance. Instead, she cast him a cursory, almost indifferent glance and spoke to the rest of his crew (and Leroy, of whom she made a mental note to when exactly dwarves became so chummy with pirates).

"I'm in the mood to dance, boys. Would any of you gentlemen care to oblige?"

She expected the men to practically fall over themselves with an effort to accept her offer, but some of them glanced uneasily at Hook, as if unsure what to do.

"Sister, are you drunk?" Leroy asked, gaping at her.

"Not enough, unfortunately," she murmured dryly. "So! Any takers?"

"I believe, as Captain, that privilege shall be mine," Hook said, pushing off of the wall and extending a hand. She rolled her eyes. Right. Mr. _I'm always a gentleman_.

The rings on his outstretched hand gleamed in lamplight, and for a moment Emma felt uncomfortable, recalling the last time he'd offered it to her.

_Emma, look at me. Have I told you a lie?_

She still remembered the way he'd called out at her back as she left him behind. Still remembered what he'd said to her in Rumplestiltskin's cell.

"Not having second thoughts, are we, love?"

Emma shook off the memory and let out a little skeptical huff. She gestured vaguely to the dance floor, where the crowd pressed tightly together in a sensual, slow wave.

"This isn't the Enchanted Forest, _Captain. _I'm not sure you could handle it."

He lowered his arm, but never took his gaze off her. "Perhaps _you _are the one who couldn't handle _it_."

She considered him. The blood underneath her skin burned. Her heart was beating out a quick, restless rhythm in her chest, and _fuck_, no way was she backing down now.

Instead of taking his hand, she strode past him, slowly—slowly enough to make sure he followed every single movement of her legs, the sway of her hips—and turned to face him, when their bodies were but inches apart. She tilted her chin up, their faces close enough to kiss (and he might've even expected it, the way his eyes drifted down to her lips and then back up—and _god_, why did a part of her actually _want_ him to just lean down and grab her and—)

_No. Focus. _

She allowed herself a coquettish smile and lightly placed the fingertips of her left hand on his black vest. She pinched a bit of the smooth velvet between her fingers just firmly enough to tug, while her other hand reached for his hook. At this she saw a brief flash of confusion on his face and felt a surge of triumph for catching _him _unawares. Before he could recover, she used the hook and her grip on his vest to pull him gently forwards, slowly backing them toward the dance floor. She watched his throat move as he swallowed (_nervously_? she wondered, hoping she hadn't imagined it.) and felt herself flush under his steady regard.

After all, what was the harm in one dance with one pirate?

(Later, she'd look back on that thought and curse what was most definitely the rum talking.)


End file.
